Not Too Late To Start Again
by Bree Rose Namet
Summary: Puck lives in L.A. and Santana lives in Lima. He's a music producer, she's a waitress. One day ten years after graduation, he comes back to see her, and it all just goes from there... Semi-AU futurefic, rated T for language.
1. Prologue

**Not Too Late To Start Again**

**A/N: Hey guys! So this is a new chapter fic I've been working on for a while. It's semi-AU, mostly because I can't be bothered to fact-check and make sure all the details are accurate. I promise I'll finish this one. I know I haven't been great with updating in the past, but I already have several chapters written and I'll update often, I swear. The title is from the song Never Too Late, by Hedley.**

**Don't forget to review! ;)**

**- Bree**

**Summary: Puck lives in L.A. and Santana lives in Lima. He's a music producer, she's a waitress. One day ten years after graduation, he comes back to see her, and it all just goes from there...**

**Rating: T for language**

**Pairings: Mainly Pucktana, some other minor pairings (that's just how the story worked out, I mainly ship Brittana and Puckleberry)**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Glee then Season 4 would just be NYC and we wouldn't have the New-New Directions**

* * *

**Prologue**

They're best friends, have been for thirteen years. Santana may have Brittany and Quinn, and Puck may have Finn, Mike, and Sam, but they're still best friends, and people figure they always will be. So naturally, when Puck announces that he's gotten into UCLA – double major in music and business, partial scholarship no less – it's assumed that Santana is going too. If not to UCLA, then somewhere else in Los Angeles. Even Puck assumes it, because that's where the two of them always talked about going – together, of course.

So Santana doesn't tell him, Brittany, Quinn, or anyone else about the pile of rejection letters from nine different universities that lie at the bottom of the third drawer of her dresser, under neatly folded clothes that she never wears. Nor does she mention the fact that her parents can't even afford to send her to community college, let alone L.A.

"Did you get in?" Puck asks that spring, one minute and sixteen seconds after he's done telling her that he did. They both know he means UCLA.

"Yeah, I did," she replies. He's completely ecstatic.

That's the first black lie she's ever told him, and she doesn't even know why she said it.

"Hey, where did you guys get the dough for university?" he asks in May, five and a half weeks before graduation. "I thought, you know..." He hesitates. "You guys are kinda short on money."

"We're fine," she snaps. Another lie.

Then they graduate. Everyone is ecstatic – except Santana, that is. She knows that nothing lies ahead for her but getting some low-paying job somewhere, living in a crappy apartment, and doing nothing with her life.

It slips out on July 2nd. They're having a picnic – fuck you, they love picnics, it's their thing, it's what they do when they have time to hang out – and he's going on about this awesome apartment near campus. It bursts out as he's in the middle of describing the TV he wants to get. (Yeah, so he got a little carried away.)

"I'm not going."

At first he doesn't get it. "Not going? What are you on about?"

"I'm not going to L.A. with you."

Then he just goes into denial. "Not going to L.A.? What the fuck are you talking about? You're funny, Lopez. That's kind of a stupid joke, but whatever."

"Puck, I'm not joking."

He just stares at her for a long moment. She flinches, waiting for what she knows is coming.

"What. The. Hell."

"Puck, let me explain, I just –"

"Explain?" he says, forcing a laugh. "What is there to explain? You aren't going to L.A. like you said you were – like we've been planning for nine fucking years."

"I know, I just..."

"You BITCH!" he shouts.

They're on their feet, him screaming at her and her trying desperately to get him to listen. "Noah, please –"

"Nine fucking years, Santana! What happened to our dreams? Your fucking dreams, for god's sake! You seriously gonna stay in this shithole? Thought you wanted out?"

"I do, but –"

He grabs his backpack and the keys to his truck off the blanket. "Don't want to hear it. Don't bother calling. I'll be in L.A. by tomorrow." Then he's gone.

Just like that, he's out of her life.

Of course, she stubbornly refuses to admit it. She calls him six times that night, but he doesn't answer. She leaves five voicemails about how sorry she is and how much she regrets what she did. He never calls back.

The next day, she leaves four voicemails and eleven texts, and she emails him seven times. She apologizes over and over, begging him to call her back. He doesn't respond to any of it.

After a week, she starts calling once a day and texting twice. Two weeks later, she stops texting. She starts calling every other day, before settling in to calling him every week or two.

This goes on for three years.

Gradually, the messages start getting shorter. Some weeks, she doesn't call – when nothing happened, or she's too tired, or she's too busy, or she just plain doesn't want to.

She never asks him to call.

He never does.

By the end of the fourth year, when she finally accepts that she isn't getting out of Lima, and he's not coming back, she never calls, and she never tries to contact him after that. He doesn't make any effort, and they've officially lost touch.

Meanwhile, he graduates from UCLA with a Master's degree. He gets hired at a music studio, and soon enough, he's making a name for himself as a big-time music producer. Santana is in Lima, waiting tables at Breadstix and barely making ends meet. It stays that way for six years.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**A/N: Here we go, chapter one! I wanted to get this up before I leave for the weekend. I might update again tomorrow before I leave, but we'll see. Please review, it encourages me to update!**

**- Bree**

**Disclaimer: If I manage to own Glee, I'll let you know**

* * *

Noah Puckerman steps onto the football field of William McKinley High School, looking around like he's searching for something. At first glance, it's immediately evident that he doesn't live in the area. He's wearing a neatly ironed suit, a black backpack that looks new slung over his back, his brown hair cut short. He seems to have made a good life for himself in his 28 years, and he doesn't seem entirely comfortable to be back in Lima, Ohio.

Squinting up at the bleachers, he spies a solitary figure sitting on the top row with her back to the setting sun. Smiling broadly, he makes his way up until he's standing in front of the girl.

"Santana?" he grins. When she doesn't respond, he rolls his eyes and says, "Santana Lopez?"

The Hispanic woman looks up and narrows her dark eyes at the man standing over her. "Noah Puckerman. Never thought I'd see you back in this hellhole."

"Never thought you'd still be here," he retorts. Then he smiles again, as if he can't help it. "Haven't changed, have you?"

"You have," Santana snorts. "Famous L.A. music producer. You've done well for yourself, haven't you?"

"Yup," Puck smirks. He sits down on the bleachers next to her, not bothering to ask how she knows about his life. It's a small town, people talk (some more than others). "Well, San, how's life?"

"Cut the crap," Santana says harshly, glaring out at the empty football field through her uneven black bangs. "I haven't seen you in ten years. Why are you back and what do you want?" She doesn't bother asking how he found her. This is her spot, always has been, and it was her go-to place whenever she was upset during those four years that he knew her.

Puck chuckles, silently appraising the woman he hasn't seen since they graduated from high school. She has a distinctly tough air about her. She has tanned skin, uneven black hair cut six inches past her shoulders, and her eyes have hard lines around the edges, the only thing that gives away all the misery that's been packed into her life. She's wearing skinny jeans, an oversize Rolling Stones t-shirt, and black converse. She looks almost like she did in high school, but more ragged around the edges, he thinks.

"So, why are you up here?" Puck asks finally. "What put you in a bad mood?"

She actually turns to look at him this time – or glare, rather. "What day is it?" she snaps.

"July second, why..." he trails off, realizing what she's talking about.

"Honestly, it's ten years to the day, you expect me to not be pissed off?" She's getting uncomfortable. Ten years to the day since she's seen him and he still makes her pour her heart out.

"I just didn't realize –"

"What? That I still give a shit?"

"I guess not," he sighs. They sit in silence for a few minutes. "D'you still like music?" he asks finally.

Santana laughs. There's a hint of bitterness in her voice that Puck only hears because he knows – _knew_ her so well. "_¿En serio?_ I don't have time for music. I couldn't afford to go to university so I'm stuck waiting tables ten hours a day. My landlord has already let two months' rent slide, I haven't heard from my parents in eight years, Brittany –" She breaks off and throws a rock out onto the field. "You're asking me about _music?_"

"Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question," Puck nods.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Fuck, you never swear anymore, do you?"

"I can't swear, Lopez. I'm one of _them_, remember?" he snaps.

Santana flinches, but pretends she doesn't care. "What do you want? I doubt you flew across the country to ask a girl you haven't seen in ten years if she still likes music." She isn't looking at him, so she isn't expecting the file that drops into her lap. Even so, she stubbornly ignores it, refusing to show any curiosity.

"So you _do_ still like music," Puck says after a minute.

Santana glances around like she's worried someone will overhear, even though it's half an hour until sunset in July, on the bleachers of a high school. "I guess," she shrugs finally, plucking at the frayed hem of her t-shirt. "What's it to you?"

Puck is grinning again. "You're still singing?"

"I don't sing, _tonto_," Santana says flatly, suddenly losing the slight bit of interest she'd had in the conversation. She puts the untouched file on the bench next to her and stands up. "I should go, it's getting late."

Puck sees that he's hit a brick wall. "Well, if you want to get together or something, here's my number," he says hopefully, handing Santana a business card.

"Thanks." She pours every ounce of sarcasm she has into that one word, shoving the card in her back pocket without looking at it. She remembers when she knew his number by heart, but now she needs a stupid _business card_. Without another word, she turns and strides down the steps of the bleachers. Within moments, she's around the corner and out of sight.

She doesn't know why she calls two days later. She hasn't seen him in ten years, and that wasn't exactly something she wanted to talk about. Not the decade they missed or the thirteen years of friendship before that. She grabs her jeans from the mess on her bedroom floor and reaches into the back pocket, digging out the crumpled business card. After dialling and hanging up twice, she finally lets it ring.

He agrees to meet her when she gets off work, and he shows up at Breadstix at five to nine wearing jeans, a plaid button-down unbuttoned over a white t-shirt, and old skateboarding shoes.

Santana smiles involuntarily when he walks in, before remembering herself and scowling. She signals to him that she'll be there in a few minutes, so he sits in a booth and reads through the familiar menu. At nine on the dot, Santana pulls off her apron and goes to sit down at his table.

"Hey," he grins. "You want to get out of here?"

"I can't, I only have a fifteen minute break," she says, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth.

"I thought you were done work," Puck frowns. Santana doesn't say anything.

"How are you?" Puck asks after a few minutes of awkward silence. She shrugs and remains silent. "Fine. I guess I'll talk, then?" Santana shrugs again. "Where should I start?" She shrugs a third time, and he scowls at her.

"Shit, fine," she grumbles, rolling her eyes. "Uh... Los Angeles. UCLA."

He smiles a little at the wistfulness in her voice that she's clearly trying to hide. "It was cool. I mean, high school was a waste of time, but at UCLA, I really got it, you know? So yeah, I stuck around for a while –"

"Ten years isn't a while, _tonto_," Santana interjects. He shrugs.

"Well, I got a job. I interned at a recording studio for a couple years, then I got hired. The pay was great, and I got to do my thing, y'know? And people liked my work, so I've been working my way up the food chain, so to speak. I've been working with some great artists, just fantastic…"

"And you opened your own studio last year," Santana says before she can stop herself. She _has_ been keeping tabs on him. People talk in a small town, and working at what's practically the town's only restaurant, she picks up all the gossip (a mixed blessing if she's ever had one).

Puck grins. "Yeah, I did. It just keeps getting better, I guess." He leans over and rummages in his bag for a minute before pulling out the file from a few days ago. "Here."

"What is it?" Santana asks warily, giving it a quick glance.

"Just read it."

Santana glares at him. "I don't need your bullshit, Puckerman," she snaps. "Look, I need to get back to work."

"Do you normally work this much?" He looks her over concernedly, noticing the bags under her eyes that she's tried to cover with makeup and the way she has to blink several times to stay alert.

"Off and on," she says evasively, not wanting to give away her financial situation to a rich music producer, even if it is Puck. Truth is, she picks up an extra shift two or three times a week to keep up with the bills. It's like she's treading water, but it's getting harder and harder to stay afloat.

"Well, it was great seeing you, San," he says, grabbing his backpack. "I'm in town for a while longer, so maybe we can get together again sometime?"

She shrugs noncommittally, avoiding his eyes. "Bye." She watches him push through the doors of the restaurant, glancing back at her once before disappearing around the corner.

It isn't until he's out of sight that she notices he left the file lying on the table. _That asshole, he left it on purpose_, she growls, but she shoves it into her bag. She works hard as usual during her shift, but the file dances around in the back of her mind. Not even a screaming three-year-old out way past his bedtime, breaking two glasses and a plate, manages to distract her.

At one o'clock, she and Sandy, the waitress who has worked there since forever, finally close the restaurant, wiping down the last few tables in silence, both too tired to talk. The lights are turned off, the restaurant is silent, the doors are locked, and they both head out to the street.

"Good night, Santana!" the woman calls across the lot, giving her a friendly smile as she turns to walk home.

"Night, Sandy," Santana replies, climbing into her truck and driving home. When she gets inside, she's too exhausted to read the file. Deciding to look through it in the morning, she pulls off her uniform, tossing it onto the floor, and climbs into bed, falling asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**A/N: Bree here with another chapter! This story is just writing itself. I thought it would be a lot harder to write about a pairing I don't really ship, but it isn't. Must be the combined ridiculously attractiveness of Puck and Santana... This chapter is a bit longer than the first one, so that's good, right?**

**Hopefully you're enjoying it so far! Even if you aren't, I'd still love to know. (In other words, please review!)**

**xx Bree**

**Disclaimer: Don't own it.**

* * *

The next day, Santana gets off work at 4 and drives home. The file has been bothering her since she woke up, and she's determined to finally look through it. Once she's safely up the three flights of stairs in her apartment building, unlocked and re-locked the four locks on her front door (can't be too careful, even if it is Lima), shoes off, purse and keys on the kitchen counter, she takes the file into her bedroom. She flops down onto her stomach on her bed and carefully opens the file, not sure what to expect.

There's a bunch of documents and such, but what she certainly isn't expecting is the stack of photos lying on top. Pulling them out, she glances at the top one and smiles involuntarily at the memories it invokes.

It's a photo from her first ever vocal performance, when she was five. Her kindergarten class was doing a show, and she got the lead; the photo is taken right at the end of her solo. She's standing onstage playing a fairy, and the smile on her face is one rarely, if ever, seen. She remembers how that felt, standing onstage basking in the applause.

Shaking her head to clear it, she flips to the next photo. This was taken about a year after the first one. It's the first time she and Puck ever performed together, and they're sitting in Puck's living room, back when his dad was still around, performing for their parents and his sister. He just started taking guitar lessons, and he's strumming a guitar that's much too big for him. Nevertheless, he played quite well for a six-year-old, and he has a happy smile on his face. Santana is singing, of course, and again, she has that smile that's rarely seen anywhere else.

The photos continue in that vein, depicting a series of Santana's performances, both formal and impromptu, over the course of the thirteen years that Santana and Puck knew each other.

Finally, she reaches the bottom of the stack. There's a picture taken at their high school graduation, when she sang on a stage for the last time (though she didn't know it then). She's in her graduation gown with all her classmates, singing along. It was such a bittersweet moment, a final goodbye before they all went their separate ways.

The very last picture in the stack was taken on the last day she saw Puck, July 2nd, ten years earlier. She's lying on the grass, singing and laughing as Puck takes her photo. Her hair is tied back, her eyes are bright, and she's smiling her warmest smile. It was one of the happiest days of her life, before it went to hell.

"What's next, hmm?" she muses, shaking herself out of her unpleasant reminiscing. She stacks the photos on her bedside table, takes a deep breath and pulls the file towards her. Pulling out the fairly thick stack of paper, she looks at the top sheet and does a double-take.

It's a contract, nine pages long. It's full of gibberish that she'd need a lawyer to understand, but from what she can decipher, it's a contract. And at the top of the page is her name, _Santana Diabla Lopez_.

Flipping past the contract, she sees something else: music. Pages and pages of sheet music, one song after another. It's clearly new, nothing she's heard before, but it isn't that Top 40s pop shit all over the radio nowadays, it's _real_ music – and fucking incredible, too. She finds herself humming the tune of one of the songs, and she immediately knows that she loves it.

It makes sense now. Puck coming across the country for no apparent reason, asking whether she still sings, making her read the file, the photos, all of it. He wants her to come back to L.A. and sing.

Not ten seconds later, her phone is in her hand and she's dialing his number. "Hello, Noah Puckerman speaking."

"It's Santana," she says briskly. "What are you doing this afternoon?"

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Nothing. You?"

"I'm off work until nine."

"Do you want to hang out?"

"Yeah. Where are you, I'll pick you up." She's worried that he'll offer to pick her up at her place, and she doesn't really want him to see where she lives.

"I'm staying at the Royal," he tells her. "Just pull up out front, I'll wait outside."

Santana sighs. The Royal is the most expensive hotel within five miles of Lima. _Of course_ he's fucking staying there. "Be there in thirty."

She hangs up and goes back to her room, pulling off her clothes and changing into a black t-shirt with a skull and crossbones on the front, blue denim shorts, and hoop earrings. She pulls her hair up in a ponytail, applies some light makeup, and goes back to the kitchen. Reaching into the back of a cupboard, she pulls out the old picnic basket she could never bear to throw away. Ten minutes later, there's sandwiches, lemonade (from frozen – much cheaper), cookies from Breadstix, paper plates, cups, and plastic cutlery, all packed into the basket.

Digging into her tiny linen closet, she finds their old picnic blanket hidden in the very back. Like the basket, she couldn't stand to throw it away, not with all the memories attached to it, but looking at it made her feel like crying, so she'd hidden it away. On impulse, she grabs the photos from her room and shoves them into the file. She puts the file in her purse, pulls on her favourite black ankle boots, and grabs the basket and blanket.

After unlocking and relocking the four locks on her door, she hurries down to the street. She puts the basket and blanket in the bed of her truck and gets into the front seat. She sits there for a minute before putting on her seatbelt, gunning the engine, and pulling out of the lot.

Twenty minutes later, she pulls up in front of the Royal. Puck is waiting outside. When he sees her, he waves brightly and jogs towards her.

"Hey Lopez!" he grins, getting in and closing the door. "Where to?" Santana gestures with one hand to the back of the truck. Puck turns and sees the picnic basket and blanket. "Excellent. Did you bring cookies?"

Santana laughs at how young he sounds. "Yeah. Double chocolate, your fave."

Puck gasps. "You remembered!" He's practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

Santana just grins, shaking her head at his antics. He switches the radio to their favourite oldies station and they drive in comfortable silence for a while. After twenty minutes, Santana turns left onto a dirt road which extends for about a mile.

Finally, their arrive at their old haunting ground, a deserted field left to run wild ages ago. Santana pulls up at the end of the road and they both climb out. She grabs her purse and the picnic blanket, he grabs the basket, and they walk a few feet into the field. Santana spreads out the blanket under a huge oak tree, Puck sets down the basket, and they both sit down.

"So," Puck says as Santana kicks off her boots and unpacks the picnic basket, "what did you want to talk about?"

Without a word, Santana pulls the file out of her purse and places it on the blanket between them.

"Ah," he grins, flipping it open and pulling out the contents. "You looked at it, did you?"

Santana just glares at him. "Explain."

Puck takes his time, unwrapping a sandwich, pouring them both some lemonade. He eats half the sandwich and gulps down his lemonade before saying simply, "I need you."

"What?" she frowns. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't that.

"I need you," he insists, passing her a sandwich. "You have the best voice I've ever heard, San, and I've worked with some big stars."

She laughs slightly and rolls her eyes, then takes a pensive bite of her sandwich. "What do you need me for?" she asks finally.

Puck pulls his shoes off absentmindedly, tossing them to the side. "I have a contract with this band back in L.A. – great band, _really_ talented – but their singer backed out just when they were ready to start recording." He pours himself more lemonade and takes a gulp, then sets his cup down and sighs, "They were going to back out of the contract, but I told them I knew a great singer out east, killer voice. They gave me a week."

Santana finishes her sandwich and grabs another. "You're a big record label. Can't you just find another group?"

Puck shakes his head. "Not like these guys. They're incredible, San, untapped talent. And no auto tune either, just pure music – like we talked about when we were young, remember? You know, you've seen their stuff." He pulls out the stack of sheet music.

Santana stares at it wistfully, before shaking her head firmly and saying, "But what about me? I have a life here, an apartment, a job, friends… I can't just drop everything and fly across the country!"

"And how much money are you making at said job?" Puck asks, raising an eyebrow. "You could be making millions doing what you love, in the most glamorous city in the country! Instead you're stuck here, waiting tables in Nowheresville, Ohio. Tell me, how's that working out for you?"

Santana glares at the blanket, taking an extra-large bite of her sandwich and choking. Puck thumps her on the back, and she coughs, drinking some lemonade.

"Sorry," Puck apologizes. "I know it would be good for you. And no, I'm not just saying that because of the contract," he adds, correctly interpreting the sceptical expression on her face. "Imagine, San. Getting to do what you love and getting paid for it! Recording sessions, sold-out concerts, millions of screaming fans… It could all be yours."

Santana carefully masks just how much she wants all of what he's suggesting. "I can't, _amigo_."

Puck appraises her for a moment. "What are you afraid of?" he asks softly.

What is she afraid of? That it won't work out, that she can't actually sing, that she'll build her hopes up for nothing. "I just can't," she repeats angrily.

"Just promise you'll think about it." His voice is firm, no room for negotiation, so she just nods to get him off her back. He lightens up, saying, "So, how's life?"

Santana doesn't answer, watching amusedly as he finishes off his fourth sandwich, then reaches for the cookies. "Tell me more about L.A.," she says instead.

Puck grins. He settles back on the blanket and props himself up on his elbow, staring at Santana. "First, you gotta imagine something like New York City. Remember when we went there?"

"And you almost blew up the Empire State Building? How could I forget?" Santana laughs, oblivious to his stare.

"No I didn't!" he denies immediately, throwing some cookie crumbs at her. She shrieks and jumps up, brushing off her clothes and combing through her hair. Finally satisfied, Santana lies down on the blanket and stares up at the blue sky through the tree branches.

"L.A. is like New York, except more spread out. In New York, everything is stacked on top of each other. L.A. is really a sprawling city. The vibe there is totally different, too; more relaxed, not like 'The City That Never Sleeps'. The people in L.A. are awesome, San," Puck grins. "It's like, we're all there because we love what we're doing, you know? It's an awesome scene, and everyone is really cool with shit, not like these stupid small-towners here."

He rolls his eyes, and Santana grins slightly. "Oh, and the beach is awesome. I wish you could see it, San! There's bike paths there that run all the way down the coast, and you can rent a bike and go for miles."

"It sounds amazing," Santana sighs. Puck smirks, knowing he's got her. They talk for a few more hours, getting comfortable around each other again. Santana starts opening up a bit, and by seven, it's almost like Puck never left. Almost.

"Hey, are you at Britt still together?" Puck asks suddenly. "I kind of lost touch with everyone after graduation, except Sam and Mercedes since we all went to L.A. together. They're doing great by the way, they just got engaged a couple of weeks ago.."

He breaks off when he sees her "I'm trying not to cry" face. He sits up and grabs her hand, not knowing what to do. "San? What's wrong? Crap, did I say something? I'm really sorry, I don't know what I said…"

Santana sits up and pulls her hand away from Puck's, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. "We broke up," she says harshly, staring blankly at the other end of the field.

"Oh god San, I'm really sorry… What happened? When did…" Puck stumbles, suddenly wishing he'd been there for this girl, his best friend since childhood, over the past ten years. He'd thought she'd opened up to him over the course of the afternoon, but she was clearly still keeping things to herself.

"We just grew apart, or that's what she says anyway. I still don't know what happened, I think it started when she went off to Juilliard and I stayed here. I just don't know what I _did!_ I thought we were soul mates, I thought she loved me as much as I fucking loved her. But she hasn't even called since!"

Puck wraps his arms around her gently. "It wasn't your fault," he murmurs. "These things just happen…"

"Get off me," she snaps, shaking him off and moving to the other side of the blanket. "I don't need your fucking pity."

"San, please, I'm just trying to…" Puck pleads, wanting to help her, wishing he'd been there for her. The sun is setting, but neither of them notice.

"Trying to what?" she demands, glaring at him as if he were the bane of her existence. "Trying to _help?_ That's all anyone wanted to do, but you know who I wanted? I wanted _you_. I thought, _Maybe if Puck were here I could get through this_. But where were you?"

Puck is watched her slightly open-mouthed, feeling more ashamed by the second. "In L.A.," he mumbles.

"That's right! You were in Los fucking Angeles, living the good life. You weren't here for me, no one was fucking here for me!" she shouts. "_¡Ni siquiera mis padres!_ My parents weren't even here! I haven't heard from them in seven years. I sent a letter to their return address a few years ago, and I _know_ they got it because it was never sent back. But they can't even be bothered to visit their fuck-up of a daughter!"

Puck stares at this beautiful, broken girl in front of him. "I don't know what to do, San. I want to help you, but I don't know how!" he pleads, trying to get through to her.

Santana stares at him for a moment. Then she sighs and says quietly, "What are the terms of the contract?"

Puck assesses her for a moment before smiling softly. "Nothing's finalised until you come to L.A. and meet the rest of the band – I mean, _if_ you come," he says quickly. "But basically it's saying that as Golden Dynamite –"

"Golden Dynamite?" Santana interrupts with something resembling a smile. "That's a weapon in Red Dead Redemption."

"Closet video game nerd, are you?" Puck teases. She sticks her tongue out at him. "Yeah, it's also another name for corn meal wine."

"Oh well, I've heard way worse band names," Santana says, laughing slightly. "Continue."

"Well, the contract has already been approved by the rest of the band, but if there's anything you want to negotiate, it's still open for discussion," he explains. "The most important things are that the royalty rate is 15%, recoupable expenses are negotiable, and all your music must be made through my record label, Invisible Walls. The first contract period is one year from the signing of the contract, in which time your debut album must be recorded and released. Once the year is up, the label will evaluate whether or not we want to renew the contract."

Santana stares at him for a second, then laughs. "I didn't understand a word you just said. Want another sandwich?"

Puck echoes her laughter, taking the sandwich. He watches as she neatly packs the leftovers back into the basket, humming idly.

The two sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, soaking in the beautiful sunset.

"It's getting dark," Santana comments idly. The first few stars are already out and the moon is shining down on them.

Puck smiles. "I'd forgotten what it's like to see the stars."

"Sap," Santana laughs. She stands up and grabs the basket. "C'mon, we should head back."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**A/N: I'm back with another chapter! We didn't end up going away for the weekend, because it's just pouring non-stop and camping in the rain? Not fun. Anyway, shorter chapter this time around. I'm not super happy with it, but I re-wrote it about four times, so I'm tired of this and I just want to move on. Enjoy, and remember to review!**

**xx Bree**

**P.S. I stuck a teensy tiny little bit of Faberry in here, because I needed to have at least one of my OTPs in this story. Cookies for you if you can spot it! (It's not that hard to find.)**

**Disclaimer: Does anybody actually read these? You know I don't own Glee, yada yada yada. Potato.**

* * *

If ten years ago, you told Santana that she would be best friends with Lauren Zizes, she would have laughed in your face, then proceeded to insult you and your family. If you told Lauren she would be best friends with Santana Lopez, she would have beaten you up.

A lot can change in ten years, though. Especially when all your friends move away and you're stuck in your crappy hometown, with few options of people to hang out with.

"…And then he told me he wanted to give me a freaking singing contract!"

"Calm _down_, Lopez!" Lauren orders from her bed, where she's folding laundry. "You're acting like Berry. And I don't mean chill, badass, 28-year-old Rachel Berry-Fabray, I mean 15-year-old argyle-wearing Berry."

That shuts Santana up for a minute. She flops down on Lauren's beanbag chair in a very un-Santana way and is silent for all of two minutes. Then she whines, "But he's _back_ and he's _here_ and what the hell am I gonna do?"

"Well, what do you want to do?" Lauren sighs, rolling her eyes at her friend's antics. If possible, Santana got _more_ melodramatic after high school.

"I want to sleep with him, not that _that's_ ever gonna happen again."

Lauren looks up in alarm. "Are you drunk? _Please_ tell me you're not drunk, I cannot deal with Snixx right now."

"But I hate him! I mean, what the hell was he thinking, just abandoning me like that?" Santana rants, completely ignoring Lauren. "I don't care if it was ten years ago, he has no right prancing in here and acting like everything's all fine and asking me to sing…"

"You obviously want to accept, so call him and say yes," Lauren says like it's obvious and why didn't Santana think of that? But of course, Santana Diabla Lopez is stubborn. Very stubborn.

"Yeah, right. I can't do that! I have my own life, I can't just up and leave."

Lauren rolls her eyes. "I'm gonna give you some tough love, Lopez. The only person who would miss you is me –"

"Aw, I'd miss you too, honey!" Santana says exaggeratedly, laughing.

"Shush. And Finn might miss you, but he's too busy being all mini-Schuester with his teaching gig at McKinley and his wife and kid." She chuckles when Santana mutters "I wouldn't fucking miss _him_." "But if you went to L.A. you'd have an awesome life. You'd be super rich and famous, you'd get to sing, you'd be in the same city as Cedes and Sam, _oh right_ and you'd see Puckerman every day."

"Why should I care? It's not like I'm in love with him."

"Right, sure." Lauren's phone rings. She checks the call display and apologizes quickly to Santana before answering the phone and going in the hallway.

"I am _not_ in love with Puckerman," Santana grumbles childishly. "I'm a lesbian, remember? I like girls. I haven't dated a boy since high school. So _obviously_ I don't like Puck! Because I'm a lesbian."

"You know they say talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity," Lauren teases, coming back into the room and tossing her phone onto her bed.

"Shut up."

"Did you really just stick out your tongue at me? I thought you were _mature!_ Oh stop pouting." She pauses, then says more seriously, "Just because you like girls, doesn't mean you can't like Puckerman."

"Um, that's kind of the definition of a lesbian, Zizes," Santana laughs, rolling her eyes.

"Well, maybe Puck is your exception. My gay cousin loved this girl once, he said she was the exception to his orientation."

Santana quickly changes the subject when it looks like Lauren's going to keep insisting. "Who was calling?"

"It was Jared. From work," she adds when Santana looks confused. "The company messed up a big shipment of security cameras for the government, sent them to Washington state instead of Washington, D.C. and of course I have to run damage control."

After high school, Lauren stayed in Lima and started up a security firm, Zizes Security. She quickly built the company's reputation, and now they sell to people and organizations all over the world.

Lauren sighs. "I'm gonna have to go down to the office and deal with this, sorry Lopez. Do me a favour?"

"Depends on the favour," Santana shrugs noncommittally.

"Call Puckerman and sort this whole thing out," Lauren orders sternly. "Tell him you're going to L.A., tell him you'll take the job, tell him you're in love with him. Well c'mon, let's be realistic, that's never gonna happen, but at least do the first two. Okay? Okay, you can let yourself out. Call me later, bye!"

With that, Lauren rushes out of the house, leaving Santana alone to stare at her cell phone and try to come up with a good enough reason to stay in Lima.

Santana ends up calling Puck after an hour of arguing with herself. The conversation goes something like this:

"Hello?"

"Hey. Um, it's me. I was just… uh…"

"Please tell me this is you accepting the contract, please?"

"Yeah, calm down."

"Jesus Santana, I love you so much right now! Thank God you said yes."

_I love you too_. "Yeah, well, I didn't have much choice, did I?"

"Okay, can you meet me outside the hotel at seven PM tomorrow?"

"Wait, we're leaving _tomorrow?_"

"Yeah, I'll book the flight and you take care of your stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Quit your job, give up the apartment, pack everything you own. You're moving to L.A., baby!"

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You won't regret it, I promise."

"You say that now, Puckerman. It'll be a different story when I'm on the other side of the country with a bunch of people I've never fucking met!"

"Lopez?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, but shut up."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**A/N: Here we go, chapter four! Sorry for the wait, I know it took longer than usual, but I've had a really busy few days. I'm leaving for Chicago tomorrow and I'll be there for almost two weeks, so this might be the last update for a while, since I'm not sure if I'll have internet access.**

**Enough about me. (Please don't stalk me...) I hope you're enjoying it so far - but I'm assuming you are, just because you've made it this far, haven't you? So you should leave a review! Yes. Do it. You know you want to... ****Haha, anyway. Thanks for reading!**

**xx Bree**

* * *

As Santana pulls up in front of the Royal Hotel the next day, she starts freaking out. Up until this point, none of it seemed real. Quitting her job and getting her last paycheck, settling the rent with her landlord, squeezing all her possessions into three suitcases, even saying goodbye to Lauren, all seemed like a dream. But now, she's _here_, and Noah Puckerman is getting into her truck, and in a few hours she'll be in Los Angeles!

The drive to Dayton goes by in a daze. She doesn't say much, barely even noticing as the hour-long drive goes by and they pull up in front of Dayton International Airport. A guy is waiting down the street for them – Santana posted an ad on Craigslist which this guy miraculously responded to – and he gives her $2,000 in cash for the truck.

They go through luggage check and security, and then their flight is being called and they're boarding.

"Stop freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out!"

"You're completely freaking out. I can tell."

"How can you – I'm not freaking out!"

"Just tell me what's wrong."

Santana glares at Puck but refuses to answer. After a second, though, he realises anyway. She's angry that he can figure her out that quickly.

"When was the last time you were on a plane?" he asks.

"Junior year."

"When we went to Nationals in New York?"

Santana nods, unable to speak. The plane is actually moving now, picking up speed as in goes down the runway. Puck passes her some gum and she takes a piece quickly, then clamps her hands down on the arms of her seat again.

"I promise you, we will be fine." She gives him a disbelieving look, but she's too scared to really be mad at him. "I'm serious, San. Know how many planes I've been in? Tons. And I'm still here, aren't I?"

Santana eventually relaxes a little once they're in the air. They both settle in for the six-hour non-stop flight.

At some point during the flight, Santana falls asleep. Puck gently shakes her awake when they're landing, and keeps his arm around her until the plane is firmly on the ground.

When they exit the airport and get into a cab, it's 11:30 PM local time, 2:30 AM back in Lima. They don't talk much in the cab, and Santana is barely awake by the time they get back to Puck's apartment. He installs her in his guest room and goes to his own room. They both fall asleep quickly.

The next morning, Santana wakes up slowly. At first she doesn't remember where she is, but it all comes back to her. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she sees that it's nine thirty – twelve thirty Lima time.

She gets up and looks around the room, finding her suitcases sitting on the floor by the closet. She pulls out a robe and puts it on, then heads out of the room in search of the bacon she can smell.

When she walks into the kitchen, she shrieks, covers her eyes, and backs out into the hallway again. Puck just laughs from the stove, where he's making turkey bacon and eggs with no shirt on.

"Puckerman, put on a shirt!" Santana orders, coming back into the kitchen but keeping her eyes averted.

"What'sa matter? Nothing you haven't seen before," he teases. "Besides, you're in my home, Lopez, you better get used to my way of doing things."

She growls exasperatedly, but she's laughing too, she just can't help it. Puck puts a plate of food on the table in front of her and sits down across from her. They both dig into their breakfast, and Santana smiles appreciatively at Puck's much-improved cooking. Usually she would complain about the turkey bacon (half-heartedly though, she knows he can't eat pork, since he's Jewish and all) but today she's just content to sit there with him.

"What's happening today?" Santana asks between mouthfuls.

"I'm taking you down to the office so you can meet everybody," Puck says. "You can talk to the band a bit, get to know everyone. You gotta make sure you really want to do this, San."

She nods. "What about Mercedes and Sam, are they around?"

Puck laughs. "Oh, the lovely couple. Yeah, they live in this building, actually. They're probably both at work, though." Santana raises an eyebrow, and he explains, "Sam is a firefighter and Cedes has the whole rich-and-famous thing going on."

"I know, I have all her CDs." She puts more salt on her eggs then moves on to the next question. "Where am I going to live?"

"Here, for now, until things are settled." Puck sees the unsure look on her face and quickly adds, "Unless you don't want to, in which case we can totally work out something else…"

"No, I'd love to stay here, I just don't want to get in the way or anything." She's still getting used to seeing him and she has no idea how she'll handle living with him. (Half of her wants to yell at him for abandoning her, the other half wants to rip his clothes off.)

She's still trying not to stare at his bare chest, so she gets up to pour herself a cup of coffee. When she gets the milk out of the fridge, she notices several pictures hanging on the fridge, with Puck and various people. One person in particular stands out, an attractive red-haired woman about their age who always seems to be right next to Puck. In one photo, they're at the beach and Puck has his arms wrapped around her.

"Who's that woman?" Santana asks casually, sitting back down and sipping her coffee as if she couldn't care less. She tries to push down the irrational feeling of jealousy, because she _knows_ she has no claim over Puck. Not anymore.

"Oh, Cindy? She's an old friend, we went to UCLA together." He smiles affectionately, and Santana has to try really hard not to glare. "You'd love her, she's really cool."

_Sure I would_, Santana thinks angrily. She can't help herself from asking, "Did you two ever go out?"

Puck notices her jealousy, and for a second Santana thinks he knows what's going on inside her head. But then he laughs and says, "Sorry Lopez, don't think she plays for your team."

The fuck? Oh right, she's a lesbian. Forgot that for a second. What? It's not her fault! Puck is sitting there _shirtless_, it's enough to make any lesbian question her sexuality. Okay, maybe not any lesbian, but one who's already confused? Definitely. Lauren's "exception" theory is starting to look more and more true.

While Santana is sitting there arguing with herself, Puck gets up and starts washing the dishes, completely oblivious to her conflict.

"I'm going to go shower," Santana announces, getting up and handing him her plate.

"There's clean towels in the bathroom, you're welcome to use my shampoo, and let the water heat up for thirty seconds or you'll freeze to death," he says over his shoulder. "We should leave in about twenty minutes, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

This isn't what she was expecting.

That's all Santana can think as she follows Puck into the headquarters of his record label, Invisible Walls. Or, to a small-towner like Santana, a fucking _huge_ office building. There's tons of people, all in suits, and they all greet "Mr. Puckerman" as he walks by.

"_This_ is your company?" Santana asks in astonishment. Puck nods and smiles.

She knew he ran a big company, she knew he was successful and all that, but this? This is so much bigger than _anything_ she imagined. She's scared all of a sudden, completely fucking terrified that she's made an awful mistake, because she doesn't fit in here. Somehow, Puck does, but that's not too surprising. She always knew he was going places, she just figured she'd be going with him.

They step into the elevator with four other people. They all greet Puck and introduce themselves to Santana, who forgets their names instantly. She's hyperventilating a little, and Puck notices. He reaches over and takes her hand, linking their fingers and squeezing her hand reassuringly. The others notice and smile at her like they're in on some big secret. She wants to tell them they're not dating but she can't open her mouth, for fear of throwing up.

By the time they reach the top floor, they're the only two in the elevator. Puck leads her out and into what she guesses is his office.

It's absolutely beautiful. The whole floor is one big room, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. On one side there's a big desk and a bunch of filing cabinets. There's a meeting space, with armchairs and couches arranged in a circle around a big coffee table. There's a music space in one corner, with several guitars, a keyboard, and a drum kit.

"The perks of being a CEO," Puck laughs. Santana just stands there, taking it all in. Puck gently tugs on her hand and leads her towards the meeting space, where about ten men and women are sitting.

"Mr. Puckerman!" a man says, standing up. "I presume the trip went well?"

"Yes, it did, James," Puck replies, letting go of Santana's hand to shake hands with his assistant. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet Santana Lopez."

Santana smiles slightly uncomfortably. She's suddenly conscious of her worn-out shoes, her old jeans, and her faded t-shirt. Puck and Santana sit down, and everyone goes around and introduces themselves. There's the four band members, their manager, a lawyer, Puck's assistant James, hi secretary Marlene, and three executives of the company, including – to the shock and horror of Santana – Cindy.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Santana," Cindy smiles. Santana smiles back, secretly hating this woman already. "I've heard so much about you. Puck just raves about how talented of a singer you are." This makes Santana feel a bit better, coupled with the fact that Puck's arm is across the back of her seat.

The next few hours go by in a blur. Santana signs the contract with barely a second thought, because Puck is right: she has nothing to lose. She gets to know the other members of the band, Krista, MC, Binky, and Rido, who are all really nice to her.

Around four o'clock, Puck announces that it's time for him and Santana to leave, saying she needs to see the city. Santana makes plans with the band to get together for drinks later that week, and then she turns to leave. That's when she notices that Puck is missing.

"MC, have you seen Puck?" she asks. The bassist shakes her head.

"He and Cindy went downstairs a few minutes ago," Rido calls over, gesturing with his hand towards the elevator. "He told me to tell you he'd meet you in the lobby."

"Thanks," Santana calls over her shoulder, already getting into the elevator. She makes her way down, already angry. When she steps out into the lobby, she immediately sees Puck and Cindy standing by the front doors. Puck is saying something and Cindy is laughing.

"Oh hey Lopez, ready to go?" Puck asks when she walks up to them. She nods impatiently and they walk out. "I'll call you later," Puck tells Cindy over his shoulder. She smiles and nods, waving at Santana, who ignores her and walks out.

"So, where do you want to go first?" Puck asks.

Santana shrugs, smiling brightly at him. "Surprise me."


End file.
